A Darkness Forged in Fire

FORTY-TWO

K onowa stood on top of the hill and cursed the rain.

A thunder cloud ripped apart directly overhead and the rain sluiced down in sheets. Shaking his head, he adjusted the collar of the riding cloak he had put on, a first since their little adventure had begun. It wasn't that he hated being wet, which he did, but the rain was no longer the warm steam bath it had been. In all the years he had lived in Elfkyna, he had never known a rain this cool, and his gaze automatically turned to the twisted forest that now surrounded him.

In the course of setting up camp and sending out scouts and dealing with the whims of the Prince, Konowa had passed through the gap in the trees several times in the past few hours.

Whenever he ventured outside the black ring, the natural chaos of the world murmured in the background, annoying but familiar. Within the ring, however, an eerie quiet prevailed. It was as if all life was muted, held deep within the folds of a thick cloak. It was different from what he had felt when Visyna wove her magic. Then, the murmurs of life had felt right, as if a broken bone had suddenly been mended. Either way, it gave him a peace of mind that allowed him to think.

Rallie emerged from the shadows to stand beside him. She pushed back the hood of her cloak to peer up at the cloud-laden night sky, not the least bit bothered by the rain. Lightning struck one of the trees, revealing the forest for a moment in all its grotesquerie. Gleaming blue flames flared up and then were quenched, the tree a pile of ash. Branches from other trees creaked and groaned as they began to fill the gap.

"I feel like things are slipping out of my hands," he said to her, turning away from the trees to stare at the remains of the fortress. The walls were smashed in several places, the mud brick construction disintegrating further in the rain. Two small five-pounder cannon, so named for the weight of the shot they fired, lay knocked off their wheels, but already troops were working to repair them. A short, squat, four-inch howitzer had also been found and was already declared fit to fire. Fortunately, the guns had not been spiked, and the powder room in the fortress still contained several barrels of dry powder and close to a thousand rounds. Standard tactics were to render an enemy's cannon inoperable, or at the very least smash open his powder kegs and soak the powder, but none of that had been done.

A thick cloud of smoke emanated from Rallie's mouth, only to be quickly torn apart by the falling rain. "Then best not hold too tightly, or you'll lose your grip even faster." She turned her head to the side to look at him. "The scouts are out in force, the guard is set, the Prince and I walked the fortress calling out to the Star with no luck, and the fortress, such as it is, is secure. I suggest you take the opportunity to get some sleep. Things always look better in the morning."

Konowa smiled in spite of himself. "Sleep. I've heard of that. Perhaps later. I should make another round of the sentries-everyone is pretty jumpy." He caught the reflection of steel bayonets as a group of soldiers patrolled the line of trees. The RSM had set a path fifty yards away, but their unease at being even that close to the trees kept pushing their circuit farther away until a sergeant bellowed for the soldiers to hold their bloody ground. Arkhorn would have walked right up to them and started carving his initials in the trunks.

"The dwarf may yet appear," Rallie said, her reading of his thoughts so natural that he no longer questioned it. "But your running yourself ragged won't help one bit. If anything comes up, I'll be sure to have someone fetch you. Besides, little is going to get past Jir," she said, leaning down to rub the fur of one very soaked bengar.

Konowa started, unaware that Jir was there. He held out his hand for Jir to come over for a pat, but the bengar only sniffed at it and stayed by Rallie's side. "He can tell that I've changed," Konowa said, pulling his hand back and letting it rest against his chest.

Rallie spat, a gesture lost in the rain. "Oh, pish," she said, rounding on Konowa and poking her cigar at him so that he had to back up a pace. "You're wet, tired, and feeling sorry for yourself. I'm not about to write that the sub knight commander of the Iron Elves is a mewling milquetoast too soft to handle a little adversity. Get yourself out of the rain, find a nice dry place somewhere, and get some sleep."

"Is that an order?" Konowa asked, allowing himself a half smile. Rallie took a long draw on her cigar, the end glowing bright orange and showing no ill effects from being in the rain.

"Soon to be followed by a kick in the breeches if you don't follow it, and take this mangy ball of fur with you," she said, nudging Jir toward him with her knee.

He started to move off, then hesitated. "Have you seen Visyna recently? I'm not sure, but I think I owe her an apology…for something." Ever since he'd met her, Konowa had felt he was letting her down. It was bothering him more and more.

"Apology? No. You are doing what you think best, and though she disagrees with that, she knows you do it from your heart. As does she. My advice," she said, turning and looking down toward the river, "is to get some sleep. Things will look clearer after a few hours of rest."

"Orders are orders," Konowa said, saluting smartly and bowing his head. Cold rain ran down the back of his neck and he quickly brought his head up again. "C'mon, Jir, let's see if we can't find someplace a little less wet." Jir looked up at Rallie, who pointedly turned her back on both of them. Jir seemed to give it some thought, then padded after Konowa, the bengar's olive eyes glinting in the dark.

"Well, it's not much, but at least it'll keep the rain off our heads," Konowa said a minute later, crawling under a half-collapsed cart. The sound of the rain pounding on the wood was loud, but at least it was dry. He removed his shako, adjusted his scabbard, and lay down. After a few seconds, Jir flopped down beside him, the bengar's back pushing up against his. Konowa reached a hand out and let it rest on the animal's fur, giving Jir a pat as he did so. "Almost makes me homesick for our little hut by the stream," he said, the last of his words slurring as he drifted into sleep.

A feeling of absolute tranquility washed over him.

Bloody hell.

This time in his dream, he was Wobbly-at least, he thought he was the pelican. Unlike the clear thoughts he had had the other night when he dreamed about Martimis, this one was fuzzy, as if a cloth had been draped over a lantern…or the pelican in question was drunk.

He was flying, if weaving madly across a moonlit sky could be called flying. He felt no fear. In fact, he felt very pleased with the world. He was so relaxed that he started to drift off to sleep. It was a glorious feeling, the wind soft and tender against his feathers. Then the wind got harder, and colder. He opened his eyes and saw the ground rushing up from below. With a terrified squawk, he started flapping his wings again, slowly gaining height as he struggled to stay on course. Konowa tossed in his sleep, his own heart racing. It was amazing the bird had survived this long.

He settled back into level flight, more or less, and then looked around for Dandy. He saw a shadow off in the distance mirroring his course and felt relieved. He opened his mouth and was rewarded with deliciously cool air pouring down his throat. It was glorious.

A tree loomed up before him and he veered to the right. Branches slashed at him as he flew by, trying to bring him down. He squawked and flew higher. Another tree suddenly appeared before him, and again he veered away, only to find another tree in his path. Somehow he had flown into a forest and was now anxious to get out. Twisted black branches thrashed the air around him. Razor-edged leaves flew past him, and cries of insane fury echoed in his mind. He saw the silver Wolf Oak up ahead, its canopy snaking out in all directions, cutting off his escape. Somewhere below he knew the Shadow Monarch waited. He flapped his wings harder and pointed himself skyward even as he sensed the approach of something large and old and filled with malice.

He woke up screaming.

The air was cold, and the Viceroy was naked. Each breath drove tentacles of ice deeper into his lungs. He smiled and prayed for the air to grow colder still.

The Viceroy stood before the table, but not because he had been woken from sleep-he no longer needed that luxury. She provided him with everything now, and through the table he was that much closer to Her power. And it was real, visceral power, not like the pathetic force the Queen of Calahr wielded. It pained him to think he could have been so blind, so petty, that he had once dedicated his life to such a hollow power as the Empire.

His new monarch was power incarnate, and through the table it flowed over him like a polar waterfall, penetrating every fiber of his being, until he sensed nothing but what the table itself saw.

And what he saw pleased him as few things could.

The Iron Elves, predictably, had chosen the perceived security of the fortress and Her forest wall around it over the open ground.

It would be their doom.

Even now, the rebellious elfkynan were closing on Luuguth Jor, walking into the trap the Iron Elves had already entered.

Soon, the Star would be Hers.

A flicker of regret caught the Viceroy by surprise, but it lasted only a moment. There had been a time, only recently in fact, when he had wanted the Star for himself, for its power, its meaning.

Now he wanted it only for Her.

He bent closer over the table, luxuriating in the feel of its surface, running his hands across it as he would a lover. Ryk faur, Her Emissary had called it, bond brother.

It was his now, and he its.

He traced the approaching route of the elfkynan army. It would be over in a matter of hours. He moved his hands and felt the cold force of Her power at his fingertips. The temptation to crush the elfkynan and the Iron Elves now was immense, but years of perfecting the art of patience won through, and he lifted his hands from the table.

The elfkynan and the Iron Elves would kill each other, and whatever remained would be cleansed from the face of the earth. The rest of the Imperial Army and whatever fool elfkynan chose to rise up would follow, and Her dominion would grow wider across the lands. It was a pleasure to finally serve a monarch who understood the true meaning of force.

There was the heavy flutter of wings at the window and the smell of blood in the air. The Viceroy never took his eyes from the table, barely motioning for the dragon to bring the latest messenger to him. He heard the table cry out for more, sensing the still-warm blood and the message within. A loud thump reverberated along the table and something brown rolled across it to stop in front of the Viceroy, temporarily obscuring his view of Luuguth Jor. It took a moment for him to understand what he saw.

It was the head of his dragon.

He jerked up, turning to see a short, fat, white pelican perched on the edge of the table, its feet doing a little dance as it tried to keep them from freezing to the surface.

Perched in the window behind it was a raptor of immense size, the silver tip of the bird's curving black beak sparkling with menace.

The pelican opened its bill wide and regurgitated liquid all over the table's surface. The smell of alcohol filled the air, and steam hissed and rose from the table so that the room began to fill with mist. The raptor leaned its head farther into the room, its beak poised just above the table.

Only then did the Viceroy understand the true danger this odd pair posed.

" Noooooooo! " he shouted, even as the raptor opened its beak and then snapped it shut. Sparks sprayed out across the table and came in contact with the alcohol. There was a whoosh and blue flames leaped upward, knocking him backward into the wall.

The pelican squawked and beat its wings furiously as it took off from the table trailing singed tail feathers in its wake, flying back out the window the raptor had already vacated.

The Viceroy looked around desperately for something to put out the fire, but there was nothing in the room.

Nothing, except him.

His screams echoed far into the night.